


Empty

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Aims to be Horror, Character Death, Gen, Loss of Control, Robot Body Horror, Starvation, mention of suicide, robot gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 13:58:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: Inspired by Haru's headcanon on Empties.Nearly two years have passed. Two years since the team had been formed. Two years since he had been forced to split the team into two small vessels to make the trek.  Two years since Ratchet assured Optimus that he could keep the second vessel’s crew in line and they would converge on Earth.Two years since he had scoffed at Optimus’s concern.“I’ll just be a call away.”Two years since the Decepticon attack separated the twin vessels and no attempts at communication could reveal the location or fate of their companions.Two years that now stain the new hope with long-held dread.





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by Haru's headcanon post over here:
> 
> http://harutemu.tumblr.com/post/152049035867/transformers-empties-an-empty-is-the-name-for-a
> 
> Figured I should at least try to write something horror-y for Halloween, so why not the horrors of robot starvation? And put it in space?
> 
> This is NOT a happy story so please keep that in mind. The rest of the time I can promise you that fics I write have happy endings, but that is not the case today.

“We have visual confirmation,” Perceptor announces, his tone giving little of his own emotions away. Bulkhead and Bumblebee are huddled behind him, peeking at his screen. However, when Perceptor looks up from the screen, his optics seek out Optimus. “It’s Ratchet’s vessel.”

A hope that Optimus had not let himself entertain when the craft was first spotted now blooms unbidden in his chest.

Nearly two years have passed. Two years since the team had been formed. Two years since he had been forced to split the team into two small vessels to make the trek.  Two years since Ratchet assured Optimus that he could keep the second vessel’s crew in line and they would converge on Earth.

Two years since he had scoffed at Optimus’s concern.

“I’ll just be a call away.”

Two years since the Decepticon attack separated the twin vessels and no attempts at communication could reveal the location or fate of their companions.

Two years that now stain the new hope with long-held dread.

“Still no answer to our comms?”

“No,” Perceptor confirms. His digits race across his control panel. “Scans indicate that there is extensive damage to the hull where the communication hub is located, which I would suspect to be the cause. I would further hypothesize that the emergency beacon is the only component that was repaired.”

“So that means they’re alive, right?” Bulkhead asks hopefully. “Ratchet had to have fixed it up, so he and the rest of them gotta be alright.”

Bumblebee looks up at Optimus, more torn in his optimism and looking to the Prime for any indication of how he should feel.

The rapid beeping of the emergency beacon makes Optimus’s digits twitch.

“Perceptor, get us alongside their ship so we can board immediately.” 

* * *

It’s nearly silent inside the ship. Certainly no voices, no indications of movement or life. Only the hum of engines indicates that the ship is still functioning as Optimus enters the storage room of the ship.

It is also completely dark. The only light is coming from Optimus’s headlights, throwing long and deep shadows where it the light can’t reach.

“::This doesn’t look good,::” Bumblebee says, his whistling noises as quiet as he can make them.

“They could just be conserving energon,” Bulkhead points out, though his optimism sounds a bit desperate. “Staying in stasis while the ship runs on autopilot, y’know?”

::They should not be lacking for energon,:: Perceptor says over the comms from their vessel. ::They had the same supplies as we did.::

Optimus frowns as he steps in further. The storage room has some basic supplies, but there are only half the number of containers there should be. More worrying is that no matter where he looks, there isn’t a drop of energon to be seen.

“And yet it appears that Bulkhead is correct. There are no energon stockpiles in here.”

::How peculiar. I’m attempting to connect to the ship’s systems, so I should be able to throw some illumination on the topic soon.::

“Inform me as soon as you know anything.”

::Yes, Sir.::

The control center is illuminated by only the blinking lights of the main console, confirming Bulkhead’s theory that the ship is on autopilot. After a sweep of the room proves it to be just as lacking of any signs of the ship’s crew as the storage room, Optimus makes his way to the console, nudging it back to life and throwing bright blue light across the room as the screen lights up. It’s a simple map indicating the path the autopilot has taken and the last few weeks ahead to reach Earth.

“::Where is everyone?::”

“Gotta be stasis,” Bulkhead insists. “Should we check the habsuites, Optimus?”

“One moment,” Optimus replies, his optics never leaving the screen as he begins to type away, minimizing the map to search the database.

Before he can search it, however, another screen pops up. A folder with three audio files. The oldest is labelled ‘For Optimus’, the second oldest ‘don’t listen’, and the third simply ‘new file’.

“Perceptor?”

::Their systems are running minimally, so the connection program suite is offline. It will take me a some time to find a path into the systems to online them and properly connect.::

After a moment’s hesitation, Optimus releases the hardline in his wrist, connecting himself to the console to download the files.

“I will see if I can online them from here. Bulkhead, Bumblebee, check the habsuites together.”

“Yes, sir,” Bulkhead replies as he and Bumblebee head first for the door on the left.

Optimus has started scrolling through the ship’s logs when he starts the first audio file to play in his HUD.

_“Hello, Optimus.”_

Optimus’s spark stalls for a moment as he hears Ratchet’s voice for the first time in years.

 _“Hopefully you’ll never have to hear this. But, if I’m honest with myself, you will.”_ Ratchet soft chuckle is humorless and despondent, and Optimus feels the hope of before evaporating quickly from his grasp. The file is a year and a half old.

Before it continues though, Optimus is snapped from the growing horror by Bulkhead yelling.

“Scrap! Fraggin’—holy scrap. Jazz?!”

Optimus turns his helm, battle programming humming to life automatically, but by some small grace of fate, it isn’t needed. But he is quick to abandon the terminal to join Bulkhead where he is knelt on the ground by the now open door.

Jazz is laid across the barrier between rooms, half in and half out, and at such an angle that Optimus realizes he was likely leaned up against the door on the other side and fell when Bulkhead opened it. Bulkhead still looks startled and jittery, but he has Jazz propped up in his arms. Bumblebee is already in the habsuite, his lights panning across the room.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are finally revealed, curled together on a single berth. Bumblebee makes his way over and they shift as he beeps at them.

Three confirmed online. Optimus’s spark eases a bit.

Optimus crouches next to Bulkhead, watching the way that Jazz’s frame is sluggishly whirring back to consciousness. It’s slow going, and it gives Optimus time to note the state of his frame.

Jazz has never had a colorful paintjob, sticking to his usual contrasts of black and white. But even in the dim lights, Optimus can see that the blacks have faded to greys, and any color highlights are pale at best. He nearly looks completely uniform in the sickly grey shade. It’s only his visor and face that still makes him recognizable.

Worst still is when Jazz’s visor slowly onlines and it’s so, so dull.

There is no doubt, when Jazz’s words are too slurred to understand the first time and his left arm does not move, despite by all outside appearances looking uninjured, that he’s empty. Likely has been for a while, though exactly how long is beyond Optimus’s ability to ascertain.

Bulkhead is already digging into his subspace for a cube of energon.

“It’s alright, Jazz. We have you now,” Optimus says soothingly, placing his servo on Jazz’s shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. However, he can’t stay just yet, so he pushes to his pedes to follow after Bumblebee as he says to Bulkhead, “Be careful. While most processes will be slow, programs related to refueling will be fully functional, so he is likely to act quickly and possibly aggressively.”

“Gotcha,” Bulkhead replies, shifting Jazz to lean against his chest. It allows him to wrap an arm around Jazz’s back and hold his opposite shoulder, ready to restrain if necessary.

Bumblebee is already whirring softly to the twin warriors, pulling out a cube from subspace behind his back before revealing it. And, indeed, the moment the twins’ optics find the soft glow of energon, the slow grogginess of booting up is gone. Sunstreaker snatches it lightning-fast from Bumblebee’s grip, not bothering to remove the lid so much as simply bringing it up to his mouth and biting down to breech it.

Sideswipe, still energon-less, haphazardly scrambles over his brother, reaching out in desperation towards the now spooked Bumblebee.

“Please, please please please, give me one, I’m so empty, come on–!”

Optimus grasps him by the shoulder before Sideswipe can corner Bumblebee, pulling him back while holding out a cube of energon in his free servo. “It’s alright, Sideswipe,” Optimus says as the warrior practically claws at his Prime’s servo, pulling it to his mouth so he can start to desperately gulp down the cube. “We have enough energon. You’ll be refueled soon.”

Sideswipe has greyed like Jazz, the once vibrant red now just a slight tint. Sunstreaker has fared no better. And they both move wrong. They move like long-injured mecha, making up for where their frames have failed.

There’s no knowing how far their nanites have gotten in their self-cannibalization to extend their spark-lives. No doubt wiring has been eaten away beneath their plating.

As the three empty mecha slowly start to fill up, Optimus takes the opportunity to look around the room. While it is a habsuite, it looks more like an improvised med-bay. Each habsuite was only equipped with two berths, however here a third has been dragged into the space, and each has an energon-drip hanging by it. Even in the terrible lighting, it’s obvious they have run dry, and likely had some time ago given the state of the berth’s former occupants.

There’s no indication of a fourth occupant. Nor is there any explanation for why Jazz had been up against the door.

Optimus moves Sideswipe to sit back down on the berth next to his brother. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to mind now that he’s fueling, docile in a way that Optimus has never seen the warrior. Optimus places a couple more cubes between the two, one of which is immediately picked up by Sunstreaker who again tears into it before beginning to gulp it down.

“They should be alright for now,” Optimus tells Bumblebee, trying to be reassuring. He wonders if it’s the scout’s first experience with empties. “Keep on optic on them, and once they’re finished take them back to the ship. Perceptor will need to begin treatment immediately.”

Optimus hopes that they made it in time. Frames can be fixed, or at least parts replaced when given the supplies and time. Processors and programming however are often impossible to ever truly mend.

Jazz has finished two cubes by the time that Optimus returns to where he’s leaning against Bulkhead. His visor is a little brighter now, able after a couple seconds to focus.

“Was startin’ to worry you weren’t gonna make it,” Jazz manages, his voice rough and still slurred, but now it’s at least intelligible.

“I cannot tell you how thankful I am that we finally found you.” Optimus crouches again, servo on Jazz’s shoulder, and he means it. It’s only the lingering uncertainty that keeps Optimus from embracing his sentimentality and holding his long lost friend close. “What has happened here?”

Jazz’s face pinches.

“It’s hard to remember.”

Bulkhead frowns deeply but doesn’t comment. Optimus nods and squeezes Jazz’s shoulder again.

“Don’t worry. Your memories should come back online soon enough. Can you at least tell me why you were against the door?”

Jazz’s helm tilts and several long seconds pass before he nods.

“I tried to leave, but it was locked.”

“Locked?” Bulkhead says, his ridges furrowing with concern. “But we opened the door just fine.”

“From the inside,” Jazz says. His visor dulls again as he frowns. “It was from the inside. He didn’t want us coming out. I realized… I realized that he had’ta be hiding something from us.”

Optimus’s spark clenches.

“You mean Ratchet.”

Jazz nods. “Did he tell ya?”

Bulkhead shifts awkwardly as he says, “We haven’t seen Ratchet yet.”

“He’s supposed to be out there,” Sunstreaker says suddenly from across the room. When Optimus looks over, Sunstreaker looks bewildered, as if he had just been told a fundamental universal truth is false. “Ratchet said he would be out there.”

Optimus feels the dread of before building in his chest.

“Bumblebee, Bulkhead. I need you two to take these three back to the ship.”

“::What about you?::” Bumblebee asks. Beside Optimus, Bulkhead is standing up, lifting Jazz as he does.

“I will check the rest of the ship and then join you,” Optimus explains as he moves towards the twins. Bumblebee already has an arm slung around Sunstreaker to help him up and Sideswipe is still docile, easily letting himself be lifted off the berth by Optimus’s servos. “Bulkhead, can you take Jazz and Sideswipe?”

“No problem, boss. But I think you should come back with us so we can explore the rest together,” Bulkhead suggests, the optimism of before clearly waned.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Neither Bulkhead nor Bumblebee look happy with the decision. And Optimus understands their concerns – the desolate ship was already starting to feel oppressive, and now upon discovering their comrades in the early stages of becoming empties, no doubt they are disheartened and concerned.

The fear that things will only become worse is palpable.

Still, they follow orders. They shoulder their fellow Autobots and lead them through the control room and towards the storage room.

Until Jazz’s helm lolls and he sees the console screen. It has switched back to the map in Optimus’s absence, likely a default while the ship is in autopilot. Jazz’s pedes stop moving, dragging along the floor when Bulkhead moves before realizing his comrade has stopped. “Come on, Jazz,” Bulkhead says, trying to mollify Jazz and get him moving again. However, Jazz does not.

His visor is transfixed on the map.

“But it’s wrong.”

Bulkhead looks to Optimus and, when the Prime nods, Bulkhead stops trying to tear Jazz away.

“You’ve been in stasis a long time, Jazz,” Optimus explains. “I’m sure it is jarring, but we are indeed nearly to Earth.”

Jazz doesn’t look at Optimus, though. He’s still staring at the map.

“No. It’s wrong. We can’t be here.”

“There isn’t enough energon,” Sunstreaker pipes up, still looking bewildered and now almost upset at the state of things. “Ratchet said we didn’t have enough to make it all the way. He said so. There isn’t enough.”

“Where’s Ratchet?” Sideswipes voice is small, impossibly soft for the mech that Optimus knew him to be.

There’s a knot forming in Optimus’s chest.

Jazz’s visor brightens, then, and his servos clench into fists.

“He didn’t take his share.”

That’s enough to set Sunstreaker off. He’s suddenly yanking himself from Bumblebee’s hold, optics flickering and flashing as he yells, “No! Ratchet said he would drink it! He said so! He said he would be here and drink it!”

Jazz, at least, stays in one place. He looks shell-shocked, but there’s a knowing look on his face, and understanding. Whatever it is, it means that Bulkhead can release him and wrangle Sunstreaker instead, wrapping an arm around him and holding him close, lifting his pedes off the ground. Bumblebee takes Sideswipe so that Bulkhead can focus on Sunstreaker. After watching his twin for a moment, optics unfocused as he sways, Sideswipe lets his helm flop back and starts to call Ratchet’s name.

It’s a complete cacophony as Optimus pulls Jazz from the console screen and tries his best to corral his team towards the storage room.

A loud hammering of fists against metal erupts behind them.

It’s enough to shock them all into silence. Optimus swings his helm around and knows, in an instant, that it is coming from the other habsuite door. It rattles as what sounds like an entire frame slams into it from the other side.

The shrill shriek of feedback echoing from beyond the door is spark-chilling.

The three surviving crewmembers are suddenly in motion again. Even Jazz pulls against Optimus’s hold as he murmurs, “No no no no no, you idiot, you idiot–”

“He said so!  _He said so_!”

“ _Ratchet_!!”

“Take them  _now_ ,” Optimus orders, pushing Jazz towards Bulkhead. The warrior obediently picks Jazz up, slinging him over one shoulder while wrangling Sunstreaker up over the other. Bumblebee has as good a grip on Sideswipe as he can manage and pulls him back towards their own ship.

Optimus however remains in the control room.

“::Optimus, come on!::”

“I said take them,” Optimus repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Do not come back unless I order you to. Understood?”

“But Optimus–”

“ _Am I understood_?”

Neither of them look happy, but Bulkhead and Bumblebee nod and continue to take their wailing comrades with them.

After a few moments, Optimus steps towards the storage room door and palms the panel, having it slide shut.

It’s now silent save for the banging against the habsuite door. Optimus’s digits twitch before his servos clench into fists. He cannot be certain what is beyond the barrier, but he’s seen enough to guess, and Optimus’s spark aches at the thought.

The banging slows. The shrieking of before becomes a spark-wrenching groan of static.

And then Optimus moves.

The habsuite door is locked, this time from the outside. Optimus does his best to ignore the scratching from the other side of the door as his digits move across the panel, bringing up what information it has to give.

A quarantine lock. It’s set for a decade. Ratchet is the medical officer who set it.

No one would be able to override it except Optimus. Not even Ratchet himself.

Optimus keys in his override and, finally, the panel changes color and the door slides open.

A frame slams into Optimus, and he’s barely able to keep his footing, but the Prime manages it as he catches the mech in front of him.

Bright, dumbfounded optics stare up at him.

His frame is completely grey, giving the appearance of a walking corpse. Worst still is the level of decay, bits of armor having fallen away from the basic skeletal frame underneath. The struts of his arm are brittle under Optimus’s servos, practically hollowed by the desperate nanites finding any source of energy the mech’s frame has left in it to keep him moving and his spark spinning.

Even a third of his face has been eaten away, revealing the structures beneath and how the optic rolls in its socket as he stares.

But Optimus can still recognize the face of his old friend.

“Ratchet,” comes out broken as Optimus’s spark throbs with sorrow.

The sudden burning hunger in Ratchet’s optics confirms Optimus’s fears, even as he is suddenly growling and clawing at Optimus, dentae chomping as he tries to get close enough to bite. Digits dig into Optimus’s armor where they can, yanking with strength born of pure instinctual need, trying to rip it out of the way of Ratchet’s true target.

Ratchet is a late-stage empty.

Optimus struggles with Ratchet, holding him back as gently as he can. But Ratchet moves with a feral desperation and manages to start ripping at the paneling protecting Optimus’s neck, managing to tear one away as Optimus grunts and grits his dentae against the wave of pain and the panic it sends his self-preservation programming into. Digit-tips scramble to get a hold on the energon lines there, to hook around and yank, to rip out Optimus’s throat for a taste of his energon–

Optimus has to shove Ratchet to the ground and quickly follows to pin him. Ratchet snarls and thrashes, wild and mad.

“It’s alright,” Optimus soothes, ignoring his processor in favor of his spark and how it hurts. He shifts until his knees have Ratchet’s arms held down. “It’s alright now. I’m here to help you, Ratchet.”

Ratchet snaps his dentae and continues to struggle.

There are no more cubes of energon in Optimus’s subspace, and he will not allow his soldiers to see Ratchet like this. So, without hesitation, he pulls a small blade out of his subspace and shifts his forearm armor away so he can cut into one of his energon lines.

Ratchet’s optics go impossibly wide and completely focused on the spilt energon.

Perceptor tries to comm Optimus, but it is ignored as Optimus lowers his wrist until Ratchet can latch his mouth around it. Dentae clamp down as Ratchet gulps down the first few gushes of energon, and once that passes he begins to suck fervently. All of Ratchet’s focus is on drinking from Optimus’s frame, so he does not struggle when he’s no longer pinned, or even protest when Optimus pulls him to sit up.

The sensation of having his energon pulled through and out his lines is awful, and Optimus’s HUD sends warning after warning. However, they’re ignored as well.

None of it hurts as much as his spark does.

With Ratchet docile as he satiates himself, Optimus plays the audio files.

> _“Hello, Optimus._
> 
> _“Hopefully you’ll never have to hear this. But, if I’m honest with myself, you will. It would be sheer dumb luck if our ship is discovered before we get much, much closer to Earth, and I don’t put much faith in luck.”_
> 
> _There’s an audible sigh, tired and weary._
> 
> _“We lost most of our energon. And while I’ve managed to fix the emergency beacon, the rest is unsalvageable with what supplies we have left. At this rate we won’t last very long. So I’ve taken what we have and I’m going to put it to the best use I can to give them the greatest chance at survival._
> 
> _“They’ll likely be empty though when you find them. I—Primus, I hate thinking about it. I wish I didn’t have to plan it this way.”_
> 
> _There’s another sigh but it’s shakier._
> 
> _“Their drips will only last a year. They’ll be empty for likely months after that. But if they stay in stasis – if they still believe that rescue will come and thus their systems keep them in empty stasis – they should hopefully recover with minimal permanent damage. At this point, it’s take that risk, or know that they will offline. And I – Optimus, I can’t let them die. Not like this. Not when I have even a sliver of a chance to save them.”_
> 
> _The voice grows quieter than. Graver._
> 
> _“I told them I would remain in the control room in case anything goes wrong. And that much is true. I plan to stay here as long as I’m able, staying in a light stasis so the systems can wake me as needed. However, I – I also told them I would have my own share of energon to keep me going. I had to tell them that or else they would have never agreed. I need them to believe I’m alright so that their programming trusts that help will come._
> 
> _“But the ship won’t make it if I fuel myself. And if they do not make it to Earth, they won’t survive.”_
> 
> _There’s a barely perceptible hiccup of a ventilation._
> 
> _“Ohh, Optimus. I know you wouldn’t agree with this decision I’ve made, but I know just as much that in my position you’d do the same. I have to give them the best chance at survival that I can because I can’t—I can’t let them die. Not like that, not—not to become **empties** , to watch them slowly deteriorate in frame and mind. I just can’t. Not when I can possibly save them.”_
> 
> _He sounds haggard with emotion now, his voice catching as his voicebox spits static._
> 
> _“I’m sorry, Optimus. I don’t believe I’ll ever get to see you again. But know that it—it was–”_
> 
> _There’s a clearing of his voicebox._
> 
> _“It was an honor to be by your side all these years, Optimus. I want you to know that. I will always consider you my dear friend.”_

The file ends and Optimus heaves a trembling ex-vent. His spark pangs with sorrow too deep to contain, seeping like a chill through his frame.

He doesn’t even think twice before playing the second.

> _“I didn’t think it would get worse than the pain. I swear I could feel them, feel my own frame **eating** itself. But I onlined to check the status of the trip and it doesn’t – oh Primus, Optimus, I can’t feel the pain anymore. It’s still happening but I’ve gone numb and it’s—it’s all becoming too real now._
> 
> _“And it’s not just my frame. Most all of my medical programming has offlined. A medic without medical programming. Hah. It’s like the beginning of some sick joke.”_
> 
> _He speaks with a tremor that never really stops, no matter how many times his voicebox is cleared. It nearly sounds as if he’s crying as he speaks._
> 
> _“And at least I know about that. But there’re other things that are missing now. They’ve offlined and I don’t even know what they are or how to find them. I’m—I’m forgetting things, Optimus. I’m forgetting and I don’t even know what I’ve forgotten. I can’t remember…”_
> 
> _A moment passes. When finally he speaks again, it’s even more ragged, more emotional._
> 
> _“I should just kill myself. I know I should. I mean, slag, I want to at this point, because I don’t – I don’t want to become this. I know where this ends and I can’t stand the thought. But I also know that if I die, I’ll never—I’ll never–!”_
> 
> _There is the distinct sound of sobbing. It lasts for about ten seconds._
> 
> _“I want to see you again, Optimus. I want–”_
> 
> _More sobbing. It goes on for nearly thirty seconds._
> 
> _“I don’t want to die alone.”_

A sob wracks Optimus’s frame, but he chokes back the noise of it. He knows it’s ridiculous – the Ratchet sucking the life from his lines doesn’t care – but Optimus can’t stand the thought of possibly upsetting him. At least like this, suckling on Optimus’s wrist, Ratchet appears peaceful. Content.

It can’t go on for much longer though. Optimus is starting to run low now.

Still, he lets Ratchet drink.

He starts the final audio clip.

> _“ **LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT! I NEED IT! I NEED IT AND I KNOW THEY HAVE IT, THEY HAVE IT!! LET ME OUT I NEED IT LET ME HAVE IT LET ME OUT THEY HAVE IT AND I NEED IT–!!!** ”_

Optimus ends the clip, shuddering as he can still hear that awful voice in his processor, haunting him.

Ratchet’s optics flicker to life when Optimus touches his cheek. However, Optimus does not stop him from drinking, so he settles and lets Optimus stoke his face.

“I’m so sorry, Ratchet.” The mesh of Ratchet’s face is pitted and rough. Optimus’s intake feels tight and his voicebox threatens to spit static, but Optimus schools himself, forces his voice to be even, calming. “They’ll be alright. Jazz and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker will recover and live because of you.”

It’s hard to know if Ratchet’s sucking actually slows or if it’s Optimus’s imagination. Either way he continues.

“And now let me take care of you one last time, old friend.”

His servo slips behind Ratchet’s helm, cradling it for a moment.

“You won’t have to be alone.”

Optimus moves quickly, pulling his servo away just long enough to let his dagger slip out from within his forearm plating to grasp it. It pushes cleanly between the plating of Ratchet’s neck and helm to sink into his processor.

Optimus holds his ventilation as Ratchet stills.

As Ratchet gives one last full-frame shudder.

As Ratchet’s frame goes silent and falls against Optimus’s chest.

Both of the newer audio files on the ship’s console will be deleted. Optimus will forbid Perceptor from inspecting Ratchet’s frame.  A story will be given to explain the noises, one that has nothing to do with Ratchet.

Optimus will make sure no one ever knows Ratchet as anything but the mech he once was.

Optimus holds Ratchet to his chest and mourns.


End file.
